How Much You Mean To Me
by Saby7
Summary: When John is hit by a car and taken to the hospital, Sherlock waits for him, but his patience grows thin.


_**Authors Note: Sorry, this is really bad... My friend gave me this as a suggestion for a story a bit ago, and I was so excited to write it, but I couldn't exactly pin Sherlock's emotions, so it took me a while. Hopefully he's not too OOC, but I did write this when I was insanely tired, so my apologies if I didn't get it right...  
>Hope you enjoy anyway! All of your reviews have been so nice! Thank you so much!<br>-Sab **_

Sherlock's fingers tapped anxiously at his side. He was leaning so far forward in the small, blue plastic chair that the back legs were almost fully off the ground.

His hair was wild and unkempt from his hands constantly making its way across his scalp in helplessness and frustration.  
>All he could do was wait.<p>

The overly large black clock on the wall was ticking obnoxiously slow; the "clack, clack" of the arms moving echoed over and over through Sherlock's mind. It was the only noise he could hear anymore. Just the straight "clack, clack" of the clock. The people talking, the ambulances blaring, the phones ringing; it was all so insanely unimportant.

There were only two things that mattered now: the constant "clack, clack" that reminded him time was passing, and John.

He put his hands to his head, and his head in his lap as he went over what happened again, and again.

John across the street, a friendly smile and a wave, a look both ways and a run across the street, all followed by a car swerving down the street not seeing John crossing; and then it was Johns body lying unmoving on the harsh pavement, as the car hurried away.

John was a cautious person. There was no way this was just an accident, it was a planned hit and run.

But hardly anything mattered anymore. The case they were working on didn't matter anymore, the man in the car didn't matter, the possibility of Moriarty being behind this, the almost certainty of him being behind this, didn't even matter anymore. Those were the small things that could wait to be cared about.

For now John was what mattered.

Minutes became hours of Sherlock sitting in the hospital waiting room. He paid no attention to the other people in the room with him. It was only the "clack, clack," and the constant images of John flashing through his head to keep him company.

Sherlock could hear a noise coming from the hallway adjacent to the room he was in.

"I'll see John now." Sherlock said to the two doctors, one boy and one girl, as they entered the room.

"Well we have a few things to go over with you. This could take a moment but we should just do this before you see-" started the girl.

Sherlock interrupted. "I will see him now." he said, getting ready to push past the doctors.

"Your friend was hit pretty bad, it's probably best that you wait a small while longer. We came to tell you that Mr. Watson-"

"Yes, just coming to tell me he suffered an injury to his hip, neck and leg, and has a broken arm. Anyone would have been able to tell that from the way his body made contact with the car, and the way he hit the pavement. Obviously. I was there I saw it happen. Now I have been waiting here for well past 5 hours, so if you would please _move _out of my way, I am going in there to see my friend." 

Sherlock walked between the two doctors, who were both a little too uncomfortable to speak, and opened the doors to the long hallway where John would be.

***

Sherlock had no idea which room John was in, so he just looked through everyone he passed. A woman, two children, an old man and several empty rooms, but no sign of John.

He turned the corner. The sign on the wall had an arrow on it that read "210-230." Sherlock passed more rooms, most were empty. Some of the lights in the hall way had even turned off, but flickered back on as Sherlock walked beneath them.

"221"

Sherlock peeked his head in to see John lying in his bed, unconscious to the world around him.

A smile of relief surfaced. Sherlock's icy blue eyes were soft, as he stared down at his helpless friend.

"Oh John," he said, not being able to stop himself as he knelt down and grabbed his friends hand. He had to kneel, since there were no chairs in the room.

John didn't twitch. Sherlock studied his friend's lifeless looking body.

He paused before speaking, not knowing what to say. Not that it made a difference seeing as his friend was asleep.

"221," he said out loud. "Funny isn't it? How the room number is just the place we were at when..."

Tears were forming in his eyes and he spoke, taking in deep, jagged breaths.

"When... God John, I was so worried about you." his voice cracked and he held Johns hand as his chest heaved in and out from his silent sobs.

"Don't, just d- don't do that again." he said, placing Johns hand back onto the bed.

"You mean too much to me."

Sherlock looked back at his friend once more before leaving the room to find a chair. He'd make sure to be there when John woke up.

***

John strained his ears to listen for footsteps as Sherlock walked away. His heart was beating, his pulse was racing, but he was completely still.

Sherlock's words.

Meant so much to him.


End file.
